Ann Cleeves - Thin Air

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Marcus said, amused, when she asked one day what he saw in her. ‘What will it take me to persuade you that you’re a wonderful woman? I’ve never met anyone so compassionate and wise. You’re just fishing for compliments. There are women you play with, and women you settle down with. I want to be with you for the long term.’

When she’d suggested that he might like to come with her to Shetland she wasn’t sure what his response would be. He’d have to take a couple of weeks off work, and in the summer he sometimes organized lucrative day-trips for American visitors to the UK, but he’d agreed without hesitation. Now, holed up in this house, she longed to have him to herself. She felt cheated because she’d imagined the stay in Shetland would be a romantic time for them. That was why Marcus had brought his own car, so that they could explore on their own, find empty beaches for picnics, ancient historical sites. She’d even had the wild fantasy that he might propose to her. Instead they were locked up in this place on the beach, haunted by the memory of Eleanor, shut in by the weather and the hill where her body had been found. It rose behind the house and its shadow was always with them.

The knock on the door surprised them all. The fog was so dense that it was hard to believe any world existed outside the house. Ian got to his feet and flung open the door. Two police officers. Not the dark detective this time, but the tall, untidy woman and Wilson, the younger man. Without a word Ian stood aside to let them in. Marcus put his feet on the floor and stood up. The officers’ clothes and hair were covered with fine droplets of water, so they looked grey too, as if they’d brought the drizzle in with them.

‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Polly said. ‘Would you like some?’ And she escaped into the kitchen before they could reply.

When she returned to the living room the officers had taken off their jackets and looked more human, though the woman’s wild hair made Polly think of a mermaid from a kid’s story book. There was an awkward silence and she realized they’d been waiting for her before they started any meaningful conversation.

‘We’ve discovered that Eleanor had made contact with some local people to discuss her documentary,’ Willow Reeves said. They’d settled around the dining table. It was as if the discussion required something more formal than the easy chairs. ‘I’m wondering why she never mentioned that to you. As she was so excited by the project.’ When nobody responded she probed again. ‘Why the need for secrecy, do you think?’

‘She might have mentioned it to me,’ Ian said. ‘She talked about her work all the time, but I didn’t always listen. I have my own work. Sometimes she seemed not to realize…’

‘But she lied to you.’ Willow’s voice was gentle. Polly thought she might have made a good psychiatrist. ‘That afternoon when she claimed to be tired and the rest of you went for a walk, she met up with a woman who said that she’d seen Peerie Lizzie. The spirit of a drowned child.’

There was a moment of stunned silence. The detective looked at them each in turn. ‘She didn’t discuss this with anyone?’

They looked at each other and Polly could see that they were all trying to readjust to the idea of a different Eleanor. That the straightforward, up-front Eleanor they’d all known might have told lies.

‘Nell might have been embarrassed.’ Polly reached out to pour more coffee. ‘I mean, she knew we could never believe in stuff like that.’ Though now, she thought, she could sense irrational ideas drifting into her own brain like flotsam swirling around in the tide. Now she might be more sympathetic to Eleanor’s talk of ghosts.

‘And you thought that Eleanor might believe it?’ The detective’s voice was non-committal, but Polly could sense the scepticism.

‘Six months ago I’d have said it was impossible.’ Ian tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. ‘But recently? I don’t know what to think. She’d been behaving so strangely. I should have been more sympathetic about the baby. I should have given her my full attention. Insisted, at least, that she stay in hospital until they were ready to discharge her.’

‘How did she seem when you came back from the walk that afternoon?’ Again Willow addressed the question to the whole group.

Ian’s fingers still rattled on the table. Polly wanted to put her hand over his to stop the noise, to calm him.

‘Fine. Didn’t she?’ Polly tried to remember. They’d come in, full of the walk and the things they’d seen. Puffins flying onto the ledges of the cliffs. Being dive-bombed by the skuas. Seals. Eleanor had seemed rested, better than she’d been for months. ‘We were all looking forward to the party. It was like being kids again preparing for a night out. She and I sat in her bedroom and painted our nails.’

‘So that would have been a time when she might have confided in you,’ Willow said. ‘When it was just the two of you together.’

‘Yes.’ Polly paused. ‘But she didn’t.’

Willow turned towards Marcus. ‘You haven’t said much, Mr Wentworth. Do you have anything to add?’

‘I didn’t really know her. We met properly for the first time on the boat from Aberdeen. My sense was that she seemed…’ He paused. ‘Playful, perhaps. That everything was coming together for her and she was determined to have fun.’

Looking outside, Polly saw that the fog had almost disappeared. It was possible to see as far as the horizon and a milky sunlight was catching the water. She felt a bubble of gratitude to Marcus for bringing the old Eleanor back to life for her.

The younger detective’s phone rang. A ridiculous call sign: the Captain Pugwash theme tune. He blushed and hurried outside with a muttered apology. The rest of them grinned, enjoying the break in the tension. Willow Reeves took one of the biscuits that Polly had set out on a plate.

‘When can we go home?’ Polly asked suddenly. Again she had a longing for her ordinary life, for popping to the local Waitrose for a treat for their supper, and for evenings of theatre or the cinema. For her and Marcus walking along their street on the way back to her flat. Knowing that when they arrived they’d make love lazily and lie in bed afterwards listening to the sounds of the city. That’s what she loved about London: everything was familiar, but anonymous.

‘Whenever you like,’ Willow Reeves said easily. ‘We have no power to keep you here. It makes life easier for us, of course, if you stay locally in case we have more questions.’

‘I’m staying,’ said Ian, pugnacious and determined. ‘For the week that we’d booked at least. Maybe for longer than that. Until we know what happened.’ He hesitated. ‘I can’t stand not knowing. I can live with anything else.’

‘That would be helpful.’ Willow smiled towards Polly as if she sensed her restlessness and discomfort. ‘Of course there’s no need to stay in Unst. Do some trips to Shetland mainland and to Lerwick. After a few days in the sticks it will seem truly metropolitan. A good cappuccino and a restaurant meal and you might not feel so eager to get home.’

The young detective came back into the house, still apologizing, saying he thought he’d switched off his phone. He stood, making it clear that he thought they should leave, and when Willow made no sign of moving he leaned towards her. ‘That was Jimmy.’

Now the woman did get to her feet and they both trooped outside into the pale sunshine. Polly thought that Willow Reeves might be the senior investigating officer in the case, but if anyone was to find out who’d killed Eleanor it would be Jimmy Perez.